


Road to Reparations

by electriColor



Series: Road to Reparations [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Pillow Talk, Reunions, Slow Burn, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-27 17:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14430993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electriColor/pseuds/electriColor
Summary: Picking up directly after the book.Oliver is on a mission to win back Elio's affections.It contains less references than most of the fanfics here, many of which I read with gusto, this is more of an exploration on the characters, primarily Elio. Read it as if there were spotlights following Elio and Oliver, they were my main focus.This is my first ever fanfic, written because the story resonated a LOT with me, stemming from some personal, unresolved issues that were similar in nature.





	1. The First Cut

We still were able to ride our bicycles with quite the speed, even comparable to our selves 20 years ago. I shouldn't be surprised, he still jogs every morning.

 

"Phew, I don't remember it getting so hot this early", Oliver said while wiping some sweat off his forehead as we stopped short of the villa.

 

"Global warming doesn't stop anywhere, not even in this little hidden pocket of time" I replied while grinning.

 

"It sure seems that way in most other aspects though."

 

"Sure, if you ignore the Euro signs taken over from the old Lire, the town square did look comfortably similar to back then."

 

Back then, back back, back when the world was a simpler place. Back when I wasn't even sure what it was that I wanted. Or did I even now? I couldn't say that the years helped me crystallize an answer out of those tumultuous 6 weeks, cause with you standing in front of me, all the semblance of an answer turns to dust and leave me back to where I started.

 

"Come on, I'm sure Mafalda cooked up a storm again for our _Muvi Star_ ", I said while pushing my bike towards the entrance.

 

***

 

Mafalda truly outdid herself, having stuffed table with all the delights that made Oliver smack his lips back in the days. Sitting across from him, it brought a heartfelt smile to my face. The way he ate, short of inhaled, the pasta, the fish, the antipasti, he resembled a rescued fisherman who was caught out in the sea for some inhumane time, on the verge of starvation.

 

"What?", he asked from behind his sunglasses, while leaning back to assess the damage done over a cup of espresso, having caught sight of my grin.

 

"Nothing", I replied, sipping on my own cup.

 

He proceeded to stretch his limbs, tired from a long trip, a bike ride and an Italian meal fit for a king. One of his feet grazed mine, sending my nerves on overdrive. I quickly pulled mine back, for there it couldn't stay.

 

"Sorry, did I scratch you?", Oliver quickly said.

 

"No, sorry, I was just taken by surprise, that's all."

 

A shadow of a smile quickly disappeared from his lips. I couldn't make out his face. Even without the sunglasses, I never could. Not out in the open. Never outside.

 

"Shall we see if Manfredi brought your stuff up already?"

 

"Sure, let's."

 

Opening the door to my old bedroom for him felt like the oddest Deja Vu. This is my window, overlooking the garden. This is my desk, where I spent years transcribing, first music, then emotions I felt pent up inside me, with words which had no more place to go, lost in the air, waiting to be jotted down on paper and then discarded. My wardrobe, which still holds my most prized possession, a reminder that I didn't just conjure you out of my dreams, willing you to appear on that summer day, out of the taxi.

 

"So, that's my old room." I say, as if he didn't know every corner of it already.

 

"Wow, it's like nothing has changed."

 

Everything was the same. Except for everything having changed. The walls, more sunbleached with each summer. The posters, an ever changing collection of different moods and fancies. You, with your parallel life, the golden family. Me, who I thought would be as different as the rest of the room, but somehow still stuck in the same spot, looking out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of You in your ghost spots, while you are right in the same room with me, within an arm's reach. It was bewildering.

 

Oliver sat down by the edge of the bed.

 

"Wanna take a nap?", I said while turning around, "it's been a jam packed day so far for you", making my way out.

 

"Elio."

 

The tone caught me dead in my tracks. I never heard him like that before.

 

He still had his back turned towards me, looking out the window into the blue sky, as I approached the bed.

 

"What are we?", he all but whispered.

 

I sat down on the other side of the bed, looking at the door. I didn't know if I could face him either. Of all the possibilities I have gone through in my head, I was not prepared for this question. I never was.

 

We were everything in those blissful weeks, during our lazy days lying by the pool in 'Heaven', during those sweaty nights tattooing each other's skin with our body fluids. What are we now, after everything is not an option anymore, has been taken off the table so easily.

 

"I don't know Oliver. I really don't", was all I could say with a sigh.

 

"It's over. My marriage is over. Our divorce was finalized in spring."

 

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope your kids are taking it well."

 

His kids. His family. It all came crashing down. Was I to blame? Did I cause a rift? I probably shouldn't have visited him 5 years ago.

 

"It wasn't your fault Elio".

 

The mind reader again. I could hear him turning towards me.

 

"I was at another fork in my life, making a choice on how to continue on."

 

"But I can't be your choice again Oliver. It took me so many years just to come to a plausible conclusion on why we met, why we came to be and why we had to part for good. You don't get to come here and take all that away from me again, just like you took everything away from me back then.", I said, while I could feel the emotions rise up inside me, raising my legs to curl up.

 

"I never wanted to take anything away from you. I gave you all I could give, but I wasn't able to give you what you deserved."

 

"What I deserved? What I deserved was truth, was closure-" I all but yelled .

 

"You deserved everything, all the things I was not able to give you!"

 

"But all I needed were the things that mattered. You, who mattered."

 

You, who kept on filling my dreams, late at night. You, who towered over every subsequent lover, in permanent comparison, at your pinnacle. You, who were the best person I've ever known, picked and chosen by the Gods to appear by my side, give me a glimpse of what it feels like to be whole, only to have them take you away from me in a cruel game to keep them entertained. You, who has shown me kindness in more ways than the wind knows directions. Have you not always known?

 

"How was I supposed to find someone who could surpass you?", I choked out, while holding back tears.

 

"Elio"

 

It was the same tone as before, stricken with his own pain, accumulated over the last 20 years. I had to look back.

 

And there it was. Written all over his face, after the masks fell off. All his hopes, dreams, wishes, desires. Cor Cordium, his heart of hearts. It was more truth than I could bear. As the tears started to roll, I collapsed onto the bed, shaking with sobs.

 

I could feel him put his arm on me, trying to calm him. "I'm sorry Elio, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,....." as I cried every tear I've denied over the last 20 years, denied their existence since their reason to be was gone, taken to another life far away from my own. A distance I wasn't able to bridge on my own, no matter if we lived on different continents or just a few hours drive away. I thought him gone, confined to his ghost spots. As I fell asleep from the sheer exhaustion, I could still hear his soothing 'Sorry'.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it all a dream? Was it a video?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angst

The air in the room became fresher, now that the worst of the afternoon heat had passed. A blackbird's singing from right outside my window woke me up.

 

I smelled a familiar musk. A head of gold shifted, a voice I memorized from a thousand dreams softly called out to me.

 

"Hey." he said.

 

Was I 17 again? Was I still asleep? Was I indeed still dreaming?

 

"Hey yourself."

 

Those eyes of his, open, clear, as deep as the ocean, sought out mine. I could feel his breathing nearing.

 

When our lips touched, it felt just like the first and the last time. Or was it one of the times in between? Was there ever a last time? Have these lips of mine not been waiting, primed and ready, for those lips of his? Don't his lips still carry that faint taste of Mafalda's apricot juice that she always serves during breakfast? Maybe I was indeed still 17, without a lifetime full of experiences, heartache and loss behind me.

 

Suddenly the 20 years came back rushing in. The goodbye at the airport. His cold demeanor that following Winter. My dad's funeral. All the lives I've lived in between.

 

I shot right up.

 

"Is everything alright?", Oliver asked, sudden panic in his eyes.

 

"I can't do this."

 

He couldn't just come back here, waltz in here, act like nothing happened. This wasn't happening. I had to get out of the room. I didn't look back when I heard him call out my name, I just needed space, I needed as much distance as this villa could afford me, until I was alone, locked safe and sound behind the door of another bedroom, sitting down, breathing and getting my thoughts in order again.


	3. The sad, the beautiful Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things went too fast for Elio.

A hot shower at the end of a hot day always brings its own kind of refreshment. I could spend hours, maybe even days, under the shower head, while the water washes away all thoughts, all fears, leaving the head empty but for the most fleeting, simple ideas. Songs, speeches, great pieces of art must have come to every creative head in recent history while standing under a shower head.

Cleaned off the grime, the sweat and the tears, I felt like I could face the world again. Him again. He, who was the world to me for 6 weeks and forever. How can you lose your whole world, get back up while making do with the morsels that are left and still believe that the world as you've known it is suddenly back in your reach without fearing it might disappear again on a moment's notice? It was unbearable.

As I made my way down to the sitting room, I could hear the tune of 'Claire de Lune' being played on my piano.

"I didn't know you could play!" I called out in surprise, starting my descend on the stairs.

"I don't really, especially not like Monsieur here.”

"It's still a talent. How come I didn't know about it?" I asked as I sat down next to him.

"It's.... a recent acquisition, so to say.”

He definitely needed a lot more practice, because he got stuck a couple of times, not exactly hitting the legato quite right, but it was still enjoyable. Maybe because it was him playing, but enjoyable none the less. A for effort.

"Pretty good for a novice"

"Mais merci beaucoup!" after which he finished the stanza with a little flourish.

"Not the easiest song to play, that Debussy, I have to give you that! Especially for beginners."

"Nothing is too hard when you know what you're working towards", he said quietly while his pinky searched for mine, “Like you, Oliver.”

He remembered.

That realization came fast and hard as his finger found mine and both became intertwined.

"I promised you 5 years ago that I would be there for you, that I wouldn't let time come between us. Not again. I didn't know back then how far reaching my promise would be. That was my fork that lead me to you. Back to you. Because, I didn't choose you as my fork, I chose myself, chose the place I feel most complete at."

I was speechless, all I could do was nod.

“Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur, l’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune. Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur. _They do not seem to believe in their happiness._ But I do. I want to. This time, i want to.”

Oh Oliver. Still with your heavy accented language skills. Still making me smile with them.

"You, Elio Perlman, are the best person I've ever known. You carry your heart on your sleeve, with a bravery and courage which fills me with pride and makes me want to be a better person myself. And I want to say I'm worthy of having a person as good as you in my life, by my side. I want to learn, want to become worthy of someone like you."

"But you always were", was all I could muster up while holding his pinky tight with mine, staring at the way they curved. When I looked into his face, I was met by eyes, bright as the sun. Have they always shone like that?

***

Dinner was a quiet affair. I've given Mafalda the night off, so we simply picked on leftovers from the lunch feast, while we were discussing Haydn, Celan, everything that made our world rotate slower, giving us more time to ponder about the implications of an afternoon in Northern Italy. Sitting across from me once more, his foot inevitably found mine again. I didn't flinch this time nor did I swoon. I let his foot come to its resting place, felt the age which caught up with us on our feet, his feet that I worshipped back then, felt the ecstatic buzz of his skin next to mine quiet down to the most comfortable hum, a mere murmur, telling me that things were alright.

I didn't know how else I was supposed to face his unabashed declaration of loyalty but with another bottle of wine. Here we were, the 2 shyest people in the world, talking about all the worldly things which celebrate the things that matter. How easily we fall back onto establish patterns from 2 decades ago, how much yet how little changed. I could still feel the dread creeping in, telling me that he couldn't stay, wouldn't stay, that he was bound to leave again. _Minimizing the impact, calculate the fallout, you'll be here on your own again tomorrow night while he will be off to another city, taking with him his body, his soul and his heart and if you'll be a fool again, another part of yourself, till there is nothing left for you to hold on to for yourself, dependent on him for the rest of your life_.

A bitter smile crept on my face as I swished my wine inside its glass.

Would he catch on? Would he know that I knew he'd leave me here again, living off the new scraps we made today? How cruel you were, Oliver. And how easily I would succumb to your ice cold cruelty, just to feel alive once more, even at the cost of your icicles piercing through the remnants of my heart, drawing my final drops of blood. This blood I give to you, my son, my father, my lover, my other self, to sustain you because I value little in my life as much as your continued existence, so you shall proceed to live in the sun and maybe let my particles bask in its glory with you, for there is not much more that I need.

"I think it's time we turn in, no? When is your train going again tomorrow?"

"Just before noon. I will order a taxi in the morning, can you recommend me a service?"

"Sure, we have a couple of numbers you can try. I'll find one for you in the morning."

"Thank you Elio, you're the best." he said as he got up and rounded the table, just to end up standing behind me. I was not shocked to feel his sudden hand on my shoulder, a soft grip, thumb stroking the nape of my neck, as I inhaled his air. Oliver air. I tilted my head backwards, catching his eyes, the darkest storm brewing in its sea, as he slowly descended down to leave a kiss on my forehead.

Please Oliver, no, don't, don't feed me another morsel of ambrosia, keeping this flame alive for way too long, but also don't stop, don't ever stop, because you will kill me if you do. There was no reason behind trusting him again, no sense whatsoever, the alarm bells went off, an intruder was inside the palace to try to steal the rest of the treasure, hidden behind fortified walls, built over countless seasons on every memorable romantic entanglement my life had to offer.

"I'll wait for you" he whispered in my ear before he retreated back inside.

This bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debussy's "Clair de lune" was inspired by a poem from Paul Verlaine. I've copy/pasted the poem and its translation from Wikipedia.
> 
> Votre âme est un paysage choisi
> 
> Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
> 
> Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
> 
> Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.
> 
> Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
> 
> L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
> 
> Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
> 
> Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,
> 
> Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
> 
> Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
> 
> Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
> 
> Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres.
> 
> In English
> 
> Your soul is a delicate landscape
> 
> Where roam charming masks and bergamasques
> 
> Playing the lute and dancing and seeming almost
> 
> Sad under their whimsical disguises.
> 
> While singing in a minor key
> 
> Of victorious love and easy life
> 
> They don't seem to believe in their happiness
> 
> And their song mingles with the moonlight,
> 
> With the sad and beautiful moonlight,
> 
> Which makes the birds in the trees dream
> 
> And sob with ecstasy the water streams,
> 
> The great slim water streams among the marbles.


	4. It's a journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is in their cards at their current situation? Neither one really knows.

I found him later, sitting on his bed, our bed in my lasting dreams, with his computer on his lap, probably going through his lectures for the upcoming semester. Always working, this face that i kissed in another life, illuminated by the soft glow from the screen.

 

“Oh hey, I didn’t hear you come in. Sit with me for a bit?”, he said while gesturing to his side. My side of our bed, where I felt both the shame of a thousand lives yet also the bliss of a thousand more. Where he marked me as forever his, at the same time I marked him as mine. I sat down, opposite of him, as he put his computer aside.

 

“I’m sorry I broke down like that earlier. I guess I was overwhelmed. It’s just that, you....”

 

“Sprang right up on you? I know, I should have slowed my horses, befitting someone my age”, he chuckled. “What can I say, everything about this place, everything about you, makes me feel like a younger, more carefree person.”

 

Those laugh lines on his face, a life time of happiness. I wondered if I contributed to any of those.

 

“Look, regarding your question earlier… what can we be? What is in the cards for us? I want to say we can be friends, which is fair enough for both of us, especially in regard to how unfair it is at the same time. I wanna be friends.”

 

“But you know how I feel about you.”

 

“Oliver, I like you.” I love you, I adore you, with every fiber, every cell, down to the mitochondria, which are all attuned to the presence of you, like a compass needle to the North Pole, but that has always been unspoken between us. “I really do, still do, but things have been…”

 

“Difficult.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I know I haven’t made things easier. I just need you to know that at my very core, I’m still the guy who would have given you the world, if the world were at his disposal back then. But I’m different now. I have two kids who I’ve watched grow up to fine, young men. An ex-wife I could never love as much in over 15 years as I did you for those short 6 weeks. A job, a career that has me safely working until I’m way past my proposed retiring age. A world that is more open, and more understanding than it was back then. And that’s the world where I want you by my side.”

 

“So I’m just your bonus. Still better than being the consolation prize.”

 

“Elio, don’t put yourself down. I’ve asked that of you so many times already.”, he told me, his eyes searching for mine. “You could never be JUST anything. Not to me, not to anyone in this world who has had the privilege of knowing you. You were, you are, you always will be the best version of myself I could ever dream to be. You are my ultimate inspiration.”, his hand reaching for my foot.

 

I could feel the spark coming, which could turn into an all consuming wildfire if I didn’t tread more carefully. How do you tell your heart you’re willing to let it be hurt again, go through the anguish, the excruciating pain, where you consider that a life without it would be a more comfortable choice. I didn’t know if I could possibly go through it again.

 

I smiled.

 

“So let’s try to be friends for now?”, I asked as I reached for his hand resting on my foot.

 

“I know you are afraid I will hurt you again. I know that and there is nothing I can do to make you trust me wholeheartedly again. That knowledge, that anguish, it’s eating me up inside, that I know I’ve caused you so much harm that you’d distrust me. But I’m not blaming you. It’s the price I pay now, which I’ll pay gladly with interests, for sins I’ve committed against my raison d’être.”

 

“I’ll come around, I guess, eventually”, I said with a little smile, while stroking his knuckles with my finger tips.

 

“Then know this, even if you need all the time in the world to make your final decision, mine was made the day we parted at that hotel bar. And even if you should only agree to take me back while we are both drawing our final breaths in this world, know that I would still be the happiest version of the man that I was made to have walked this earth because I would have gotten to share the same last breath with you, which only marks the first breath I will get to take with you for the rest of eternity, either in our next life or in Nirvana. Because when you told me back then that you worship me, I didn't grasp it yet that all of me, everything that I am, all that I was and all I will ever be, shall be a shrine to you and you only. I couldn't see then but with every moment spent with you, I only see it clearer.”

 

How do you respond to a declaration of such magnitude, somewhere inside a small childhood bedroom, in a villa by the Italian riviera where the sun was still setting at these late hours, the cicadas filling the air with their music and a breeze carrying in the salt of the sea. We simply sat in silence, opposite one another, on the bed where we first became one, small smiles we couldn’t suppress on our lips, fingertips touching.

 

Friends.

 

“Could I convince you to lie down with me tonight?”, he asked in a quiet whisper.

 

“I really shouldn’t”, I said with a laugh, “but okay. No funny business though!”

 

“No funny business. Promise. Scout’s honor!”

 

“Why does you being a boy’s scout not surprise me?”

 

“Must have been where I picked up my habit for short shorts.”

 

We both bursted out laughing.

 

I laid down, next to him, above the sheets. I could feel his hand sliding on my shoulder, resting it there.

 

“Sir, I will have you know I am a respectable man who will not partake in any of your propositions.”, wagging my finger.

 

“Respectable? You surely must be jesting, for that is not the _dissoluto assoluto_ that I knew.”

 

I just had to swat him, while I could feel his laughter rumble in his chest.

 

“Sorry sorry Mr Perlman. I will let you know then that I feel like the luckiest man in the world right now”, came his proclamation as he hugged me close and left a kiss on my forehead.

 

If things could always be that simple.

 

We slowly drifted towards sleeps, after a day exposing our innermost fears to each other, to our selves. I fell into a hazy, colorless dream, looking through the smoke for someone to guide me, walking in a forest, calling out my own name. Where was I? I climbed the highest mountains, I sailed through the 7 seas, took a scenic flight across fields and towns. Did I come to the conclusion that I was still in love then? Or was the answer simply that Oliver came to personify love to me?

Oliver, Oliver, Oliver. He stood on a hill, overlooking the world that we built, bright as a sun. Helios. Could I be the sun for him? As I ran my hand through his burning hair, I felt my hand ignite. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t burn. It simply shone bright like the center of my universe. He turned to me and kissed me on my lips. I had no words for the emotion welling up inside my chest, but neither did he and that was okay, for we simply felt that sensation together and shared its warmth.

 

I woke up at the crack of dawn. Staying on the countryside comes with its own dangers, namely waking and falling asleep with the sun. It’s easy to fall back into those old habits, even after working and living in cities most of my life.

 

Oliver still seemed to be deep in sleep. Such a peaceful face. It was the first time in 20 years where I could really, fully take him in. Strands of gold, with some silver mixed in now, but still as precious as king’s ransom. That bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his jawline, those lips which I knew so well. How could he be real, lying in front of me, after all this time spent yearning? His fingertips on my arm. His rhythmic breathing. How did time time pass you by so easily, Oliver. Were you indeed hidden away somewhere for all those blank years, trapped in a pocket of time, and with you all those emotions we didn’t dare to speak about?

 

Like. Love. Heart. Forever. You. Me. Us.

 

Why does your presence here fill me with such happiness. How did I forget that I must have known such happiness. Are you a miracle?

 

He cracked his eyes open.

 

“Good morning”, his voice still thick with sleep.

 

“Good morning to you too, kind Sir.”

 

Those familiar lips, my lips, my property, turned to a smile.

 

“We’ve been good, right?”

 

“Plenty good. As good as we can ever be.”

 

His fingers linked up with mine.

 

“I’m glad to have you back. Back in my life, that is. In any capacity.”

 

“Please don’t hold it against me that I need to take it slow here and…”

 

He shushed me with his finger.

 

“Goose. I could die right here, knowing that I get to talk to you as a friend, any time I want.”

 

When he mentioned his own death, I was gripped with a sudden fear, the fear that all the delicately mended routes to each other’s heart might be ruptured just too easily, leaving me with less than I started out with.

 

“Please don’t die on me”, I uttered, panic filling my eyes, launching me right to his chest.

 

“Shit, no, sorry Elio. I won’t die on you, not anytime soon. Time owes us.”, he crooned while engulfing me in his arms.

 

I could hear his heart thumping faster. His smell, still the same even after all this time. His skin, still glowing with the heat of a night’s sleep. His Star of David, glistening under his collar bone. This feeling, for which I found no words and most likely never will. His arms, holding me tight.

 

Yes.

 

He was humming a little song, I could feel it reverberate throughout my whole body. I remembered it from a couple summers ago before he arrived in B., before the world as I knew it got turned upside down. It was a pretty big hit in the states.

 

“I’ll get the joy of rediscovering you”, came his quiet whisper.

 

Journey.

 

“As long as you stand by me.”

 

“I’m forever yours”.

 

Faithfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final lines were inspired by Journey's [Faithfully](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMD8hBsA-RI), with slightly rewritten lyrics. Mostly because I found the line "I get the joy of rediscovering you" immensely fitting for both the situation and their characters.
> 
> As always, I hope you'll enjoy this latest bit.


	5. It's Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is ready to take off again.

I watched him gesture his adorations for the second glass of apricot juice Mafalda served him. How he still retained those Italian moves. He sure kept me marveling. Then again, didn’t he say he used to spend a lot of time in Little Italy back in his New York days? How could I do anything else but look on in amazed amusement. Or was it amused amazement?

 

“Oh grazie Mafalda, but I don’t think I can have a second egg.”

 

“Oh shush it you big baby. Here, let me crack it open for you. I’m still not sure if you know how to open a soft boiled egg, might as well stay on the safe side.”

 

“I’ll just continue eating until I can’t move anymore”, he mock-protested in laughter.

 

“That’s the general idea, yes.”

 

“What an evil genius plan.”, he said while peering at me.

 

“You wouldn’t know half of it.”

 

Maybe life could be that simple. His foot next to mine, sitting across one another, under the bright Italian summer sun, a second helping of Mafalda’s soft boiled eggs, his Herald Tribune in his hand.

 

“I’ve thought about it. I could take you to the train station myself, there’s nothing on my schedule that can’t be moved. Just a couple of emails I can take care of any time really.”

 

“Really? That’d be great. How could I ever repay your kindness?” That grin again. My rolling eyes again.

 

I went to get the car ready while he got back to his, my, (our?) room to get his stuff. Oh Dad, if you were here, what would you say? How much of my heart is still in and untarnished? How much have I unconsciously ripped out, without having the intention, but to simply dull the pain? How much can I offer him? Is it fair for me to offer this damaged version of me when he still deserves the whole, the perfect Elio from our youths? Because he does, for all his faults, since he never set out to hurt me, even though he did. I wanted to give him all the things I didn’t think I could still offer him.

 

But then he appeared, bright smile, backpack on his back, laptop bag in his hand. His smile is catching and I found my own lips curling up as well. How can he elicit such happiness with so little effort? Maybe my heart knew me better than I thought I knew myself, years of self study notwithstanding.

 

“Is that it? Didn’t you have more stuff on you?”

 

“Nope, I’m all set.”

 

“Well, get on in. I hope you have enough space.”

 

“I can be very compact when I try!”

 

“Let’s see you try”

 

And amazingly, he did fit inside my cars. Apparently, wonders do never cease.

 

We were ready and good to go.

 

We were not stressed for time, so I decided to take him on a bit of a scenic route. Pointing out fields, country roads, little patches of land we discovered together while we were discovering each other.

 

“There’s something so peaceful about the countryside here.”, he said, with a similarly peaceful, even hazed look in his eyes. Is he starting to regret this visit? Me?

 

He grabbed my hand.

 

“Never, not even for a second, doubt my intentions.”

 

His eyes searched mine, and I pulled up on the side of the country road. This was not a conversation I could have while driving.

 

“Maybe you will regret it one day”, was all I could come up with at that moment. “Cause my father warned me, cautioned me, not to opt out of feeling for the sake of not feeling the pain. The heartache. The endless sleepless nights I had, reliving every moment, cause they were all I could cling my hands on. You were gone and with you, my self which you fell in love with. And, and, and, I’m afraid, so afraid, that I won’t be able to give you everything this time around. Because, my heart, I don’t feel like it’s the same anymore and this is just me, me at the ripe age of 37, damaged beyond repair, and I can’t be sure this is the one you want to love or even be around with.”, I stammered into my lap.

 

“Elio. Hey, Elio. Look at me.”

 

I did. All I could see was a blank face. Searching eyes of blue. Still so impossibly handsome.

 

“Tell me Elio. Do you still love me?”

 

I could feel the tears coming. What was going on with my emotions?

 

“I never stopped. I thought I forgot about you from time to time but somehow you would still loom large. I’ve loved, I’ve loved so much, when I should have saved it for you, but you were not an option anymore, so I’ve tried to see who might be my real soulmate after you fell through.”, came between sobs.

 

I heard him unbuckle his seatbelt, move closer and wrap me in his arms. Press me closer, I thought. Push me into you so I may never leave you again. My sobs calmed down, with a light hiccup remaining. Please don’t let go.

 

“Love. You can never run out of love. The more you love, the more love you get back. And to me, you ARE love. You have never been more complete, more perfect, even more lovely than you are right now.”

 

He took hold of my face between his hands, forcing me to look him straight in his eyes.

 

“Can’t you see? As much as you find me worthy of having you, I find you just as perfect for me. There is no wasted love. Only time we’ve wasted.”

 

My lips were hungry for his, even as he just gave me a light, soft peck.

 

“Better now?” That smile.

 

“No, but my embarrassing panic attack cost us enough time and you have a train to catch.”

 

“Are you sure you can drive?”

 

I took a couple deep breaths and nodded. He put his hand on mine which was resting on the stick.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

***

 

We arrived at the train station with a bit of time to spare.

 

“So, it’s time to say goodbye, hm? Again.”

 

“For now at least. But come on, please text me once you’re back home?”

 

This new Oliver. Pleading. Didn’t he know he never had to plead for anything? Least of all, for my attention?

 

“Okay, I will. Write me once you’re settled?”

 

“Always.”

 

He grabbed me by the hips. Was this also the new Oliver? Bold, lighter, throwing caution into the wind? I felt uncomfortable and put my hands on his, which were still on my hips, to get some distance.

 

“Hey, Hey. Don’t push me away.” A grin. “Please don’t. I’m a grown up man, holding another grown up man. I just told this other grown up man that I love him. A lot. And there is nothing this world can do to make me love this man less, or not show how much I love him like we did last time.”

 

“Well, then I better go get that lucky man and….”, I practically sang as I tried to turn away.

 

“Goose”, he laughed as he pulled me close and kissed me. In public. On the train platform. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alive. Or horny.

 

He hugged me once more before he climbed aboard the train.

 

“I’ll wait for you.” A small whisper, a peck on the cheek and off he went.

 

Bastard. But this time, I smiled with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I'm grateful for all the Kudos I have been given so far <3


	6. Tokens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio returns alone to the Villa

He texts me later that day.

 

“Hey Elio. Got to the hotel, it’s one of those modern ones. Interesting architecture, even if I don’t really know if it’s normal that I’m flooding the whole bathroom floor while I’m taking a shower in the cubicle. But what can you do. Xx”

 

“Hey Oliver. Glad you made it there safe and sound. Maybe take a bath then. That is, if you have a bathtub. X”

 

“There is. But I don’t have the time right now to really draw a bath right now, but it sounds tempting enough for later tonight. A hot bath, a glass of wine. There’s just something missing. :-) xx”

 

“I wouldn’t know what you’re implying. Go on with your lecture. :) x E”

 

“Actually there is something missing. I think I left my watch in the room. Would you be so kind as to check for me? I’d be forever indebted. :) Xx O”

 

I could make out his grin throughout the last text. Sheesh Oliver.

 

I took a look around my room, the desk, the drawers, the bedside tables, the bathroom. Where could he have left his watch?!?

 

The only place left was my closet. As I opened it, a light smell of body odor wafted towards me. Wafting up from his duffle bag. I knew he left something, that backpack was not everything. I opened the duffle to find a card atop of a couple pairs of slacks, 2-3 freshly pressed dress shirts, 1 pair of tennis shoes as well as 1 pair of espadrilles. Some underwear too. Should I smell them? It’s not like I never smelled his underwear before. But no, I had to read the card first.

 

“Elio. By the time you read this, I will be at my conference. Unless you snooped and ruined the whole surprise, then congratulations :) I am leaving this bag and its content with you, in hopes you will see it as a sign that I do intend to follow up on my promises. I want to be here for you, I will always be here for you, as long as you’ll have me. This time, I won’t have anyone telling me what I should or should not do. So please don’t shut me out, let me in the same way I let all of you possess my entire being.

 

I need you.

 

If I don’t get to tell you in person, please have it here in writing.

 

I love you. I’m crazy about you. But I won’t be crazy enough to let you go again.

 

Forever yours

 

Elio”

 

The card still smelled faintly of his aftershave. I must have beamed.

 

Another text.

 

“Did you find it? :)”

 

“Yes I did. I love you too.”

 

“I miss you already. Please tell Annella I will be back soon. Maybe we can meet stateside when you fly back?”

 

“Sure, I’d love that. Have a nice evening Oliver. I’ll see you in my dreams.”

 

“I can’t wait to see you in mine. I love you.”

 

Somewhere in Northern Italy, Summer 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, Oliver let his intentions be known :)
> 
> It's not quite over yet. They'll have some more fun getting to know each other again.
> 
> Thank you for the Kudos and reading, it means a lot to me <3


	7. The Arts Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Oliver take first steps. To get to know each other again. To a future they can share.

 

You never stop learning. This was one of the things I figured out again in the days after Oliver’s departure to Menton.

 

I for example learned why all the youths are hanging on their cellphones all day long.

 

My days would either start with a delightful *plink* on my phone or, when I would happen to be awakened first by the glaring sunshine filling my room, I would text him a quick and short “Good morning”. The roaming costs started soaring that summer, because every morning, each short “Good morning” from either side would kick start an entire day’s worth of text messages, filling up the space on my old Ericsson and making me consider one of those new Nokia phones with more memory for silly text messages or maybe even those Blackberry phones I saw all the business men type on all day long.

 

“I slept like a baby last night. The organizers really booked me into a great hotel this time!”

 

“Look at who needs to be coddled like an old man. ;-)”

 

“I will show you an old man, you little punk.”

 

“Oh, you’re late for that, I had my punk phase a long long time ago.”

 

“Yeah? I wouldn’t have taken you as connoisseur of punk.”

 

“There is something about the brute force, the directness, the unabashed, loud celebration of surviving.”

 

“Tell me more about ‘brute force’ :-)”

 

“I shall not, sir. I have a conference call coming up, shall we write later?”

 

“Sure, later.”

 

And it would go on and on like this. We tried writing emails, but it lacked the immediacy of always being able to write one another at a moment’s whim, being able to pick his brain, get an opinion, get HIM, at any time with that little device in my hand. I’m sure our service providers would thank us profusely.

 

“Good morning Elio. Wanted to ask you, are you busy next week?”

 

“I have an appointment early next week with my mother’s physician but else than that, I only have to do emails. Definitely easier than last week’s work load. Why?”

 

“I’m flying in to Vienna for yet another conference. It’s not quite Milan but I wanted to know if you’d fancy meeting me there?”

 

“Sure, I haven’t visited the city in a while. Guess I will have to brush up my German :-)”

 

“That’s perfect. I will send you an email with my flight details and we can coordinate? Bacio.”

“Looking forward to your mail!”

 

And just like this, I found myself arriving in Austria’s capital in the summer of 2007, ready to spend a weekend figuring out who I was, who he was and what we were always meant to be.

 

We agreed to meet in front of the Hofburg, the imperial winter palace, since it was in walking distance to both our hotels. Leaning against the railing in front of the [exhibition of an ancient roman settlement](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/53/2b/0b/532b0be2e8dff7bfdc518b2dbc660bf6.jpg), I felt nervous. The sun might have beaten down on me, but I still felt a shiver running down my spine. It has only been a week. He has made his intentions clear. He would wait for me. Breathe, Elio, breathe.

 

“Elio!”

 

My head shot up. There he was, sun lighting up his golden crown, smile as bright as when I last dropped him off at the train station. Within a handful of strides he was directly in front of me. He engulfed me in fierce hug, crushing me against him. _Don’t let me go. I don’t dare to pull myself away cause I don’t know if I will ever feel your chest against mine again._

 

He kissed me tenderly on my forehead.

 

“I’ve missed you.”, he told my head, my thoughts, my dreams.

 

“And I’ve missed you”, I told his chest, his heart, his soul.

 

His, Mine, Ours.

 

Inhale.

 

Exhale.

 

I looked up and took a step back, smile on my face.

 

“We are racking up quite the expensive habit.”

 

“Yeah, I’m definitely not looking forward to receiving this month’s phone bill. But alas, until we are able to send and receive emails on our phones, I’ll gladly pay AT&T this “Elio Premium”, which came with a dorky wink.

 

He definitely was a dad, a thought that both made me smile and pulled on my heartstring. Soldier on.

 

“I like what you’ve done with your hair. So short. No more curls?”

 

“No more curls. I felt like it was time for a change.”

 

“Suits you. Then again, I couldn’t think of anything that would not!"

 

“You old _charmeur_. So, why did you have me come all the way here? Is Italy not good enough for you anymore”, came my taunt.

 

“No place could ever be good enough for me. Unless, of course, you are there, which improves everything by a manifold”, he said, ever as smooth as a car salesman.

 

“I’m glad to know I am your personal location Umami then.”

 

“In a way you are.”, together with his shit eating grin. I could wipe that grin off his face with a kiss. But no, it would just get bigger.

 

“No, I thought you might be interested in joining me in visiting the Albertina museum. They just recently received the Batliner collection on permanent loan and I kind of figured you’d have a general interest in French impressionists and Russian Avantgarde.”

 

“Now, what would have tipped you off on that?”, I was legitimately curious.

 

“Because I do.”

 

And now was my turn to grin.

 

We quickly made our way to the museum, filling every inch between us with light banter, witty observations and more useless trivia than the space could humanly allow, but we made it work. Maybe we were more than human. Maybe he helped me transcend.

 

Inside the museum, we were quickly drawn to Paul Cezanne’s [painting of a farm in Normandy](http://www.billerantik.de/gallery2/main.php/d/22967-1/17_Cezanne_GehoeftNormandie_A3_30x40.jpg). Every paint stroke on the trees as light as a feather, catching the light. I could almost hear the rustling of the leaves, the soft breeze caressing my arms, the sound of the countryside which I left just yesterday.

 

Oliver bent down to whisper to me.

 

“It’s like I never left.”

 

“You probably never did.” Not with your clothes still taking up space inside my closet, left there as a token, as a promise, that you plan on returning, staying, settling.

 

I looked up and locked eyes with him.

 

“It truly is a remarkable collection.”

 

“I’m glad you like it.”

 

I could just tear into him right now, right there.

 

We next found ourselves in front of a [bowl of fruit by Maurice de Vlaminck](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/56/1a/b5/561ab5840c0124b4714994e3f2e77c00.jpg).

 

“Sooo, do you think those are peaches inside the bowl? Or mere apricots?”, he whispered into my ear, bending down.

 

I blushed at the sudden memory from back then, hitting him and shushing his laugh.

 

“Sicko.”

 

“I remember you being the sick one.”

 

“Then we must be equally sick.”

 

“Hm”, a moment of contemplation, “Point taken. Advantage Elio.”

 

“Oh shut it. There’s a Malewitsch I’m dying to see up close.”

_[‘Mann in supremistischer Landschaft’](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/10/c8/60/10c860feedd928a5d8c2bceabb3d1cb7.jpg) _ , the tag said.

 

"I have always been impressed with Supremetism, Futurism, Cubism. It’s striking, it’s blunt, those broad strokes of color. You’d think them random, but they’re placed just so, to elicit a feeling, a sensation. They simply dare to be.”, I tried to explain to him.

 

I could feel his eyes burning down on me, taking me in. His stare.

 

“What?”, I asked, suddenly timid.

 

“Don’t stop. I love hearing you talk. Your opinions.”

 

I blushed again.

 

“Must have been the reason why you liked punk as well. The sheer brutal directness.”

 

“But it’s never just noise. I always admired their ability to turn what would be ‘Just noise’ into a rhythm, a melody, a message. A boldness.”

 

“So what happened to yours?”

 

Right in the bullseye Oliver.

 

“It might have lost its way.”

 

“Let me help you guide you back.”

 

I grazed his hand.

 

“I’m not too unhappy about where I am right now.”

 

I grabbed his hand.

 

“Come, there’s supposed to be a water lily painting here.”

 

“And we know how much you love your Monet”, he said with a chuckle, following me, letting me pull him my way.

 

We slowly meandered through the collection, going through impressions to expressions until we hit a flight of stairs leading us down. Our descend was truly magical, for we came face to face with Monet’s [giant painting of water lilies.](https://www.albertina.at/site/assets/files/1178/ge87dl_seerosenteich.-3-zu-1.1200x0.jpg)

 

It was a fully isolated room but somehow the bright lights gave the most perfect imitation of a sun filled summer’s day. The painting glittered, sparkled, it actually came alive, even under the artificial lighting.

 

Stunned into silence, we both stood in front of the water. His fingers intertwined with mine.

 

“It’s like that summer.”, he whispered.

 

“Why? It still is summer.”, i replied, while looking up and meeting his smile.

 

And with the larger than life sized canvas depiction of a sun filled day by the twinkling water right in front of us, I could see that time truly left us out of its grasp. I could see it so clearly.

 

Me, suddenly with growing curls, shrinking down to my 17 year old proportions, him, turning bronze, his hair growing blonder and back into his scalp, short like he had it at 24, all the lines, experiences, heartaches and confusions disappearing, while standing before us, in their bathing suits and oversized shirts, staring out into water during that fateful summer, 20 years ago.

 

They had their whole life ahead of them, but they knew that what they had right there couldn’t last, no matter how much they willed the days to go by slower.

 

Little did they know that one day, 20 years in the future, their older alter egos would make another attempt at capturing that feeling of yore, with all its’ beauty but with time on their side. I wanted to yell, wanted to tell them, scream from the top of my lungs “You’ll be alright! It simply isn’t the time but never, ever lose hope!”.

 

Because I know I did. Oliver always had a place in my heart, as he had taken up permanent residence during that summer, but acknowledging it without being able to have him within my grasp was too painful of an exercise, no matter how much I heeded my dad’s advice. So I was left in confusion. Confusion, even though my heart always knew that it would beat to his heart’s rhythm at a moment’s notice, no matter how much I could attempt to fight it. I was his. As much as he promised to be mine.

 

And that knowledge, that of his promise, opened up my personal Pandora’s Box, ripped its lid open to reveal all my fears, all my pain, all the impossibilities I lived with, lost my fight against, how I doomed myself to live in the shadow of an unattainable love, only to bring light again to what laid dormant at the bottom. Hope. My hope.

 

I sighed.

 

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

 

“You’re here. All is well.”

 

And that was more truth than I could have ever mustered up in 2 decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walking up to a Monet is always magical. When I first saw that particular painting in Vienna I was actually really fooled for a second that it was standing under bright sunlight. It's stunning.
> 
> Many thanks again for the kudos. I'm happy to have an audience :)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to all feedback, what I could change, do better, what I should cut out.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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